Another flash.
Sebastian looks down at me then—reallylooks. His eyes darken, something sharp slipping through the control he wears like armor.
I meet his gaze without blinking.
Behind us, someone laughs softly. “The chemistry,” they say. “You two are striking together.”
I hate how easy it is to lean into him when the cameras flash. Hate how my body remembers a past I’ve buried, how it responds like muscle memory I never consented to keep. I hate it even more that he notices—how his hand tightens at my waist, just slightly, as if he feels that memory too.
The last photograph is taken. Applause ripples. The spell breaks.
I step away from him immediately.
“I’ll be back,” I say, already turning.
I don’t wait for a response.
I move through the crowd and out onto the balcony, the city spread below me in glittering fragments. Cold air rushes into my lungs. Winter smells like rain and metal and something close to freedom—something I don’t have yet.
I inhale.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Footsteps.
My body tightens before my mind catches up. I don’t turn. I don’t need to.
Sebastian.
He stops behind me—not touching, not crowding. Close enough that I feel warmth brush my shoulder. Far enough to pretend he still respects boundaries.
The silence hums between us, taut and alive.
I say nothing.
Neither does he.
I can feel him watching me, the weight of it deliberate. I imagine what he’s seeing: calm posture, steady breath, a woman unmoved by sentiment. I imagine the thoughts ticking behind his eyes—that I hate him, that I want something, that I didn’t agree to this marriage by accident.
He’s right.
I feel the moment it clicks for him—not the details, not the plan, just the instinct. The shift. The suspicion settling into his bones.
I haven’t forgiven him.
I’m not here for love.
I’m here to collect a debt.
After a long stretch of silence, he speaks.
“Here.”
I turn.
